


Something Amiss

by Lacrinacre



Series: Birds of a TALON [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Talon (Overwatch) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 17:15:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11086221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrinacre/pseuds/Lacrinacre
Summary: Sombra's been missing for a while.





	Something Amiss

Sombra's been missing for a while.

 

It’s been a day and she's still nowhere to be seen. There's a kind of empty hollowing in Widowmaker's chest that doesn't quite make sense. She peers down the barrel of her gun and tries to distract herself.

 

What puts her off is the strange fact that she can sense even Gabriel's agitation, making itself known in the minuscule drumming of fingers on tables, the small sideways glances to the small nooks and crannies the hacker so often inhabits. The girl is an annoyance at best to the both of them and she reminds herself of it. But when even Reaper is worried, she knows there must be something amiss. But he doesn't speak and there are no other signs from him that there is anything wrong. Running her cloth along the muzzle of Widow’s Kiss, she doesn’t look up. 

 

She doesn't remember much of the mission, only the gunshots, the shouting. She remembers glass like eggshells, the thrust of her rifle, a shot through a window, the smallest of punctures in the grand mirrored panel that was a skyscraper, then numb  _ quiet. _ There had been a rare moment of feeling her heart’s lively vigour in her chest, her blood riding smoothly through her veins- then her peace shattered as her gnarly comm came screaming in Sombra's voice. 

 

_ More gunfire.  _

 

Languidly, she wonders if the girl has died- no. She clearly remembers her pained cursing, her howling and hissing as she was brought onto the aircraft by TALON personnel, then an abject silence like the quiet after a quarrel between lovers. 

 

Gabriel’s muttering something.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I asked if you were done wasting time.” He gestures to her rifle and grumbles. “You’ve been doing that for the past twenty minutes. Its fucking clean.”

 

Widowmaker packs the rifle away. 

 

She’s offended. Not because of Gabriel’s quip, but because he’s made no mention of the missing hacker. There’s also frustration at herself. Why would she care? 

Another few hours pass and she finds herself walking down the hallway to Sombra’s door. She hesitates and raps on the cold surface (the ice in her heart seems to harden with every knock) thrice. 

 

Silence answers the door. 

Enough is enough. For a moment, she wonders if the girl is simply sulking. The thought of that insolence is slightly infuriating. How dare she make her worry? How dare she make her care?

 

Widowmaker forces the door into submission and eases her way into the room. 

 

Its messy. Sombra’s coat hangs on the back of her chair, fluttering in seeming distress as the gust that follows her in disturbs it. There’s a cot covered in papers, equally covered in cryptic scrawlings. Widowmaker nudges a pen across the floor with the toe of her shoe and ventures forwards. She knows she doesn’t belong in here. She pays no mind and activates her visor to search for heat signatures. 

 

Sombra isn’t here. 

 

The revelation is shocking. Where could she be? There was nowhere else she could think to look. The infirmary perhaps? A sinister feeling settling in her gut tells her that it isn’t so. She sits down on the cot and inhales, murmuring a command to the visor.

 

“Show me Talon agent 1-056.”

 

The heat signatures around her all but disappear and a single pulsing red dot appears in her peripherals. There is no hesitation in her stride as she pulls the coat from its perch, exits the room and sets out to find her target. 

 

It takes twenty minutes to navigate HQ, dropping several floors into the belly of the massive structure to even see Sombra’s figure as something more than a red blur through her visor. Still she persists. 

 

Her search brings her to the hall lined with interrogation rooms, doors so well fitted to the walls they look chiselled out of tiles the color of a stormy harbour. The feeling of confusion clings to Widowmaker like the wisps of thread Sombra’s worn coat trails- tangible and steadfast, but faint enough, enough to expose the dread underneath, but only to herself. For a moment, she paused and questions why the girl might be here, what might be happening to her. 

 

“Stop. You are not permitted here.”

 

Widowmaker spins as the world blurs into slow motion. Her palm takes the man in the nose and she unceremoniously knees him in the gut, cutting off his cry before it blooms. A swift kick to the head follows and she steps over the body. She takes his ID. 

 

No one will stop her, especially not a lowly grunt. She might be their weapon, but she'd make sure they  _ feared _ her. 

 

Her pace quickens. 

 

Left, left. Right. 

 

Right. 

 

The door slides open at the card recognition and the icy breath of the room rushes out to greet her. It is empty. No. It is only empty at first glance, her visor confirms that the girl is present. Widowmaker moves around the desk planted in the centre of the room. 

 

Sombra is curled up on the floor, frame shaking with soft gasps, the floor around her is messy, covered in slicks and trails of opaque blood, both dry and flowing. Widowmaker swallows down the disgust, the urge to bring her foot down and snap her neck there and then. The weakness and disgrace in her very image irritates her to no end. 

 

Instead, she shows self restraint. She kneels so the blood begins to seep into her pant leg, brown and slow like worms. She cannot imagine how long she’s been alone in here. Her voice is calm as she drapes the coat over her shivering body. 

 

“What happened, chérie?”

 

Sombra doesn't answer. She thrashes like a fish out of water and Widowmaker realised her wrists are bound behind her back. The tough cord purrs as she coaxes it loose and she lifts it to study the tag threaded on it, not paying attention to the girl as she falls limp again.

 

It lists a number and the word “ _ Exsanguination _ ” in cold, blunt type. Silence prevails and she tosses the tag away. There is still something very wrong. 

 

Holding the girl’s chin in one hand, she presses down on her calves to lay her flat on her back and reaches up to trail her fingers across the crude stitching down her throat. Sombra flinches. 

Suddenly, it all makes sense. The silence, the injuries, the tag. The soundproof walls.

Distantly,  _ Amelie _ wonders if her vocal chords had been the price for her dirty mouth.

 

“ _ Oh chérie _ …”

 

A rare pang of emotion crosses her heart and she sits down, cross legged beside her, pulling her head onto her lap. Sombra is soundless, probably won't ever speak again, but she can hea- see the distress in her eyes. Widowmaker had  _ known _ how much TALON had begun to suspect the hacker's ulterior motives and now that an opportunity had come up, they'd taken it. She'd died of exsanguination due to wounds from action, here would be no suspicion, she'd disappear without a trace. At least, that would’ve been the case until Widowmaker had found her. 

 

In truth, there is nothing she can do for her apart from outright putting her out of her misery; and her rifle is back in her quarters. So she sits. Reaches for one of her hands and holds it. Sombra clutches it like a lifeline, her hands are pale, clammy and cold enough to rival Widow’s own. Not that it will save her. 

 

_ Amelie _ is accustomed to sitting for hours on end anticipating the perfect death. This is quite similar, but this death will not be one she will celebrate. She tuts, sits in silence for periods, mutters and even speaks once in awhile. She doesn't know it it's to comfort the hacker or distract herself as Sombra’s breathing gradually turns to wet, pained wheezing that is no different from the dying rasps she's heard from her targets. 

 

She combs her fingers through the girl’s hair, straightening it and untangling the clots of dried blood that cake the strands like mud on reeds. There is too much,  _ too much  _ blood and it's crawling all over her fingers- spots that won’t  **_out._ ** All the while, Sombra shakes under her, eerily silent, her chest shudders with choppy breaths.  _ Amelie’s _ seen enough of this to know it’ll be over soon. Already, she’s growing heavier in her lap, she’s barely looking at her anymore, though her eyes are wide and near unblinking. They’re dull as mirrors, unseeing as reflections, she’s as hollow as a shadow. It's almost comedic; how ironic this is. 

 

_ Amelie _ can taste it on her tongue, thick as blood and just as metallic, she swallows thickly and ceases her stroking of her hair. 

There is nothing she can do. 

She coaxes.

 

_ “Go to sleep, Ombré _ .”

 

It doesn't take long after that. 

There's a strangled noise and Sombra hacks up a clot of blood, then promptly begins gasping desperately as mouthful after mouthful of blood begins to rise in her throat and sink in her lungs. Widowmaker soundlessly lifts her and props her against her shoulder in an attempt to ease her misery in what she can tell will be her final moments. She concludes that it is likely the rough amputation of her vocal chords that is killing her. She is drowning in the blood as it fills her lungs and she can see the agony, the pleading in her eyes at every breath. At this point, death will be a mercy. Speaking of which, the assassin regretfully wonders if the Overwatch doctor- Ziegler, might have had a shot at saving her. It is a futile thought. Gabriel would see Widowmaker dead before she went to them. Besides, Sombra isn't worth the effort. 

 

That doesn’t change the fact that it is a cruel way to die. 

 

_ Amelie _ is silent amidst the sounds of choking, gurgling and eventual suffocation. Sombra’s eyes are glassy, she droops over her shoulder, still dripping thick streams of blood like some grotesque decanter. She is barely conscious and yet,  _ Amelie _ can tell that she is still in terrible pain. She hushes her. 

 

She knows enough about Sombra’s past to know of her lack of parental figures. It seems fitting and yet, so mocking that she should receive some semblance of comfort only now, from one of the only  _ almost  _ friends she has, a realization that strikes her too late- that perhaps the hacker had actually meant it when she’d called her an  _ amiga,  _ that there was no one other than herself whom she could grant the title. It is sad really. Not that it will matter in a couple of moments. 

 

The heavy weight on her shoulder confirms that her work is done. Quietly, she sets her back down on the ground and stares into her cloudy eyes for a moment that seems  _ too long  _ and  _ too short  _ at the same time. 

 

She is infuriated. Furious that TALON thinks that they might be able to hide this from her, that they believe her to be so under their control.  _ Nothing. Nothing,  _ can hide from her sight. She finds her mind spinning, away from the body on the floor, away from the things that might have been if she’d only done something all those years ago. The blood morphs into stains- blood stains and  _ Gerard- mon dieu, Gerard. Could this have been any different- _

 

Widowmaker shuts off her stream of thought, running like razor fractals through her mind. She touches a hand to her forehead and frowns. It seems her thoughts have cut into her mind too much.  _ Amelie  _ stands, her legs quiver and she drops to the floor again almost lifelessly. 

She doesn’t trust herself to try again.

This time, it is Widowmaker who plucks herself off the floor in a smooth and confident movement, taking three deliberate strides towards the door and exiting the room. 

 

The door slides shut and for once, everything is still and acceptable. 

There’s nothing wrong, she tells herself and makes her way back to her quarters.

  
The dull snap of the guard’s neck sounds under her heel as she leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Requests for more things would be appreciated (I need to practice and I have the mental capacity of a goldfish. No smut though).


End file.
